


Sunday Morning

by tonystarksicle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, and I mean all the fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarksicle/pseuds/tonystarksicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac wakes up on a particularly sunny Sunday morning to a pair of wide, blue eyes staring him down from a few mere inches away and heavily toothpaste infected breath wafting in his direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning

Isaac wakes up on a particularly sunny Sunday morning to a pair of wide, blue eyes staring him down from a few mere inches away and heavily toothpaste infected breath wafting in his direction. He nearly flinches -  _nearly_  - but he’s too tired for a reaction to fully register and his five year old daughter has made a pretty good habit of sneaking up on him during the past few months, so he’s used to it by now. 

“Belle?” He whispers, leaning up on his side as he tries to blink himself free of sleep. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I brushed my teeth  _and_  my hair. All by myself,” she tells him, using her “whispering voice” which rivals Scott’s in its remarkable similarity to her regular speaking voice. Isaac quirks up an eyebrow, but sure enough he can see that her hair has been sectioned into two vastly lopsided pigtails and there’s no way he missed the scent of bubblegum Disney princess toothpaste. He, quite proudly, could pick that smell out of a crowd. 

“Why’d you do all that, cutie?” He asks and watches as her face lights up in excitement. 

“Because me and you are gonna make breakfast for Daddy,” she says in the honest to god most authoritative voice Isaac has ever heard. She nods her head, too, hands on her hips. There’s something in the back of his head that tells him maybe she’s been spending too much time with Lydia.

“Oh, is that so? And what are we going to make?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes. They’re Daddy’s favorite. He told me so.”

Isaac thinks back to the last time Scott made chocolate chip pancakes - how he and Isabelle had devoured them with the biggest grins on their faces, poking their tongues out at Isaac when he snapped a picture of the two of them all cuddled up in a corner of the kitchen. Isabelle had groaned for the rest of the day about how her stomach hurt and Scott kept telling her that he’d made that mistake before, too, and they spent half the afternoon in their pajamas, watching Wall-E and Monsters Inc. It’s a cavity inducing memory, one that has Isaac smiling sleepily and shaking his head into the pale light of the room. 

“Alright,” he says. “Chocolate chip pancakes it is.” 

Isabelle grins as if Isaac’s just promised a trip to Disneyland and she cheers in her little “whispered” voice before darting out of the room and down the hall. Isaac laughs to himself and looks back to see that Scott is still asleep, face smashed into the pillow, before he takes off after her, scooping her into the air when he catches up to her on the stairs. He may or may not be completely jealous of Isabelle for coming up with this idea considering Scott’s been a little more than exhausted lately - between running the veterinarian office single handedly this week and doing research on some kind of mineral he apparently found in Deaton’s old things. Chocolate chip pancakes and an extra hour of sleep are pretty much exactly what he needs right now. 

Isabelle giggles wildly when Isaac tickles her sides, squealing at him to stop, until she’s out of breath. Isaac sets her on the counter a good couple of feet from the stove top with a light tug on one of her pigtails. She sticks her tongue out at him, but he just grins back at her, asks, “Aunt Allison showing you how to do your hair again?” 

Isabelle bobs her head up and down, her legs kicking out over the counter’s edge in rhythms that don’t match. “Mhm,” she hums. “And,  _and_ , she said that next time she comes for dinner, she’s gonna do a fish braid.”

“What’s that?” Isaac asks as he takes out the griddle from one of the lower cabinets and a plastic bowl from the space beside it.

“I dunno,” she tells him, but there’s a completely content little smile on her face and it makes Isaac laugh as he exhales.

He takes out a whisk, the eggs, milk, vegetable oil, and what’s left of the chocolate chips from the last time all while listening to the dramatic tale of how Collin Whittemore-Martin got a black eye on the playground. He’s heard the story before - rationally from Scott and anything but rationally from Jackson - but the world is a lot brighter, a lot more interesting through Isabelle’s eyes. She watches him all the while as she talks, making grabby hands at whatever catches her interest. Isaac lets her hold the bag of chocolate chips and makes her “pinky promise” not to eat any before they start baking, but he catches her grinning around a handful of them two minutes later. 

“You’re as bad as your daddy,” he tells her and winks when he takes one for himself. 

Isaac thinks maybe a great idea for a reality show would be to take a group of ordinary people off the street and force them to cook with a five year old to see who could hold out the longest because they haven’t even added anything liquid yet and already he has flour covering the entire front of his tee shirt and Belle’s got chocolate smudges all over her hands - and nose, and lips, and basically anywhere that isn’t covered by her Merida pajamas. It’s hard for Isaac to be mad though when there’s a pair of innocent eyes staring up at him after every accident, an absolutely good intentioned voice saying, “Don’t worry, Dad, me and you will clean up. We can sing Gramma’s cleanup song.”

He totally knows that Scott is going to jab a finger into his shoulder and whisper “softy” in that teasing tone of his later when he sees the dried batter against the cabinet doors, but Isaac thinks it might just be worth it. 

Isaac is just about ready to start mixing the batter - after a slight egg cracking mishap involving a new “against the edge of the counter” technique - when Belle turns her attention from the bowl and says, “Dad?” 

“Yeah, B?”

“How come you know how to make pancakes?”

Isaac pauses at that, raises an eyebrow at the respectively curious face staring back at him. “What do you mean?”

Isabelle shrugs. “Uncle Derek told me and Collin that he knows how to make pasta sauce because his big sister taught him. And Uncle Stiles said that his mom used to make special cookies and he told us that he would make them at Christmas. But who taught you how to make pancakes?”

“Someone doesn’t always have to teach you how to do something, Belle. Sometimes it just takes practice and you can learn it on your own,” he tells her, but that only seems to deepen the look of confusion on her face. Well, fine, if that’s the way it’s going to be. “Okay, you want to know a secret?” Isabelle nods eagerly at that, leaning to the edge of the counter and biting her lower lip in anticipation. Isaac swears sometimes that she's just a personification of every one of Scott's mannerisms. “Okay,” he whispers, leaning close so that they’re at proper secret-sharing distance. "Don't tell Daddy, but I learned how to make these from watching him."

Isabelle's mouth forms a tiny 'o' in comprehension and she nods for a moment, but when Isaac leans back, she motions for him to return to their secret-telling position. She cups a hand over one side of her mouth and whispers back at him, "Don't tell Daddy, but I like your pancakes better."

Isaac grins. Nope. He's definitely not going to brag about that later. "Thanks, cutie," he says and leans his forehead against hers until she giggles with her chocolate stained mouth. 

 Two glasses of milk and a round of Twenty Questions: Lion King Edition later, Isabelle is pouring all of the chocolate chips quite generously into the batter with the proudest looks Isaac's ever seen on a five year old's face. 

"Do you think Daddy's gonna be happy?" She asks as Isaac begins scooping the batter onto the griddle. He's about to reply, to tell her that of course Scott's going to be happy, he's  _always_ happy whenever there's pancakes or Isabelle involved, but he doesn't get the chance to because he can hear footsteps creaking along the stairs. Isabelle meets his eyes and gasps with a smile on her face before greeting Scott's appearance in the doorway with an enthused, "Good morning, Daddy!"

"Good morning, Merida," is Scott's easy reply. His voice is still a bit sleep ridden, though, and Isaac doesn't even have to turn around to picture the type of grade-A behead he's probably got going on right now. "Are those chocolate chip pancakes?" He asks as he makes his way through the kitchen.

"Me and Dad are making them for you," she explains with a nod of her head for good measure. "So you can't help."

Scott smiles, twirling one of Isabelle's pigtails and pressing a kiss to the top of her head when she squeals with laughter. "If you say so. Maybe I'll just set the table, then?" Isabelle contemplates the offer for a moment before telling him she guesses that would be okay. 

On his way to grab the plates from the counter, Scott leans over to Isaac and kisses the skin beside his ear. He hums a good morning, fingers splayed across Isaac's lower back. Isaac tells him, "You could have stayed in bed a little longer, you know."

Scott shrugs. "I smelled chocolate chip pancakes. There's no way I'm sleeping through that." He kisses the corner of Isaac's jaw and his cheek before he starts rummaging through the cabinets for plates and forks. "Besides," he says, "I couldn't let you guys have all the fun."

Isaac shakes his head, but he can't even keep down the smile that's spreading itself over his lips. Besides, it's been years now - Isaac's learned there's no sense in fighting off the way Scott makes him feel. 

During the course of Isabelle and Scott's debate on the quality of the chocolate chips - while also seeing how many Scott can catch in his mouth because apparently he thinks he can top Isaac's record - Isaac manages to plate twelve pancakes. He says, upon finishing the final one, "Okay, I think we're ready," just as Scott is pouring Belle another glass of milk at the table. 

Isaac lifts Isabelle from the counter and she pats the top of his head as a thank you before he sets her down on her feet beside her usual chair. She asks Scott if he's excited and earns a laugh and an, "Of course I'm excited. I've got all of my favorite things in one place: you, chocolate chip pancakes, your dad."

"So, I come after chocolate chip pancakes?" Isaac asks, removing the griddle from the heat before he sets the plate of food down on the table, which Belle immediately dives into. 

Scott shakes his head and there's a fond quirk to his lips, a soothingly familiar light in his eyes. "Just below them," he says, "but that's a pretty tough spot to surpass." 

Isaac shakes his head back at Scott, wearing a smirk of his own. When Scott kisses that look off his face, all Isaac tastes is chocolate and Sunday morning and  _home_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This fic was written for the wonderful [Bela](http://sharmadness.tumblr.com) as part of a prompt. If you want to join me for more prompts and scisaac stuff, my blog can be found [here](http://daneilsharman.tumblr.com)!


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